


Love

by TheSushiMonster



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 17:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”This is the story of how Fitz and Simmons became Fitzsimmons. This is a love story.” In which Fitz falls in love, Simmons gets married, and Fitzsimmons is forever (kind of).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love

**Author's Note:**

> You’re probably all going to hate me after this. Take that as you will. (Also, you should really blame the anon who gave me “a drop in the ocean, a change in the weather, I was praying that you and me might end up together” as a prompt because seriously. But you may want to listen to the song by Ron Pope on repeat while reading this.)

This is the story of how Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons became Fitzsimmons. This is a love story.

* * *

Fitz watches her laugh; her eyes sing and her lips glitter and everything about her is beautiful – she’s a portrait of grace and brilliance and joy, without the condition of remaining still. To Fitz, Jemma is holographic technology embodied in the sunlight that reflects off her hair. Skye nudges Simmons gently, a smile teasing her face, and Simmons shakes her head with an eye roll.

Fitz swallows his sigh when Kaitlin steps beside him. “You should talk to her,” she says, her dark hair braided across her shoulders.

He kisses her on the cheek. “Let’s dance,” he says instead.

* * *

They become Fitzsimmons on a Tuesday afternoon, during the dead of winter, when it’s already dark and only four.

Simmons blows on her hands, hoping to warm up her fingers and prevent the onslaught of hypothermia. Or frostbite. Beside her, Fitz is zipping up his jacket.

“You sure you’ll be okay out here? It’s bloody freezing,” he says, the gray beanie covering his head, but curls of blonde hair peaking out. It makes Simmons smile.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, knowing that she’s shivering as the temperature continues to drop. Fitz just looks at her, and Simmons wonders how he can just know. “The bus should be here in – “ she says, glancing down at her phone.

Fitz leans over her shoulder. “Five minutes ago?”

Simmons narrows her eyes at him. “No – they’ll be another one – in ten minutes.”

“There’s a bookstore a few buildings down. How about we wait there?” Despite Fitz’s warm smile and the way his face is framed by the fog leaving his lips, Simmons still hesitates. Sighing, Fitz steps behind her and places his hands on her shoulders. “C’mon, Mum would kill me if she knew I let a girl freeze to death.”

“She sounds like a smart woman.”

Fitz’s face is like the missing sun and Simmons finds herself moving closer as they walk down the street. “She is,” he says, his eyes focused in front of him, but Simmons sees memories and affection running across his vision. “Nothing on you though.”

Simmons rolls her eyes but lets the comment slide. Fitz’s compliments are the tiny specks that glimmer in the light, unseen until he wants them to be. The silence she lets overtake them is not awkward or comfortable – it just is.

The bookstore is indeed warmer inside; there’s a small fire that crackles when the door opens and Simmons smells books and leather. While the woman behind the cashier nods in greeting, the store remains relatively empty. The smile that floats onto her face is not completely voluntary but Fitz catches it anyway. “It’s nice, isn’t it? They have a diverse sci-fi section.”

Somehow she’s not surprised he knows this. “What about fantasy?”

Fitz grins and heads to the right, past a poster for a new book series of the supernatural variety that doesn’t quite attract her attention; the sight of an aisle of books with leather-bound covers does.

“Wow.” Her fingers glides over the spine of _The Hobbit_ , each ridge softer than the previous. Simmons pulls the book out of its slot and turns around to ask Fitz about his thoughts on the series, but he’s disappeared. Frowning, Simmons steps out of the aisle and peers around the corner. “Fitz?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says quickly, returning with his arms around a book. “ _Ender’s Game_ ,” he says at her look, his grin still growing on his lips. “My favorite.”

“ _The Hobbit_ ,” says Simmons, brandishing her book in much the same way Fitz is. “My favorite.”

Fitz smiles at her and she smiles back.

(They end up sitting side by side reading their favorite books in the back aisle, the minutes falling away; by the time Simmons remembers she has to head home, Fitz has already admitted to breaking Simmons’ new stereo microscope and Simmons has already groaned at three of his jokes.

When Simmons rushes out, she almost leaves with _The Hobbit_ still in her hands, but Fitz grabs her wrist. “You may want to – you know – “ he says, dropping her hand all of a sudden.

Simmons is flushed because of the cold and the rush. “Right.” She drops the book off in a cart by the door with other misplaced books, before stuffing her hand in her pocket. “Thanks.”

She leaves before her mouth can get away with her – she can’t risk telling Fitz she enjoyed spending time with him; she can’t tell him he’s not so bad after all.

They’re just lab partners.)

* * *

When the black suit visits them in their apartment, Fitz is hastily putting out a fire on the living room table and Simmons is lecturing him while keeping an eye on the spaghetti on the stove.

“You have to make sure the Geiger counter is properly calibrated to the rest of the – “

“I _know_ I have to calibrate it, okay, thanks – “

“I’m not the one who set our mantelpiece on fire, Fitz!”

“No, you just bring back mice feces and leave it by the pickles!”

“They were not _feces,_ they were just the kidneys – and you shouldn’t have left the pickles out anyway!”

“Ahem,” the man says, clearing his throat and shutting the door. Fitz successfully douses the flames with a cup of water and Simmons straightens when she remembers they have company.

“Right! Yes, sir, I’m sorry – just one moment – “ she disappears behind the kitchen walls for a moment. “Fitz! Can you – “

“Right!” He clears off an armchair, dumping the various journals and notebooks into a pile in the corner of the room. “Have a seat, sir, I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting company.”

“I’d prefer to remain standing, Agent Fitz,” says the Black Suit.

Fitz almost asks him to take off his sunglasses since they unnerve him so much, but he suppresses the desire. “Uh, right. Well. I’ll just – “ Fitz slips into the kitchen, glancing back at the SHIELD agent, standing still at their door. “He’s from SHIELD, level 6 I think. Wants to talk to us.”

“Okay,” says Simmons, switching off the stove and sticking a bookmark in the book sitting on the counter. “Okay,” she says again following Fitz back to their living room. “Sir?”

“Agent Fitz, Agent Simmons,” says Black Suit, “I’m here to offer you a position on an field-active team.”

(That night, when they both sit on Fitz’s bed, Simmons tells him about her dream – her dream to have adventures and travel the world, while researching and experimenting. Fitz tells her about his fear – his fear of being stuck, without experience and the skills he needs.

Simmons knows he fears of dying; Fitz knows she dreams of being more. Neither one says it though.)

* * *

Coulson begins splitting them up after he returns.

At first, Simmons is wary. The memory of Fitz’s blank face as the fire spread, almost swallowing him, the constant _tick tick tick_ of the bomb screaming in her ears – it _burns_ behind her eyelids when she sleeps. Somehow, it hurts more than jumping out of a plane in the hopes to spare her friends from death by alien virus.

Then, she decides accepts it. Coulson clearly wants them to grow more independent of each other; he isn’t asking them to split up _completely_ – just wants them go in separate groups. They’ve been doing so already – when Simmons went with Ward to investigate the murder in the Norwegian park, or when Fitz went to Ossetia – but the conversation is different now, more formal.

But then, once the ache in her chest threatens to tear her apart because _Fitz isn’t there_ , she’s furious.

“Sir, you can’t expect me to not check on him! He’s in the middle of a _desert_!” Simmons twists her arms around her chest, applying pressure to the wound.

“Agent May is with him, Simmons,” says Coulson. “Please go back to the lab with Skye.”

Simmons does because it’s _what_ she does; but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t stop jumping every time she drops a vial thinking Fitz will catch it. Skye tries to call her out on how she unravels, but Simmons refuses to hear it – she just wants Fitz.

(When Fitz returns the next day, and after she refuses to let him out of her sight, they both agree that maybe they _do_ need to be apart a bit more. So Fitz stops calling her when he’s hungry and Simmons stops accidently dropping vials expecting him to catch them.

It’s the little things – but eventually they can even live in separate apartments. And much later, they can forget to call.)

* * *

Fitz meets Kaitlin in New York.

It’s snowing, in February, and the sun makes the ice on the ground look prettier than it should. The team is spending the night in the city, and Simmons is still at the hotel nursing her broken wrist.

Kaitlin runs into him; she’s carrying shopping bags and her glasses slip onto the sidewalk when his shoulder hits her chest. They awkwardly feel their way through the greeting – “Kaitlin. I work at a local company. Programmer.” “I’m – uh, Fitz. Leo. I, uh – I’m an engineer. Just visiting.” – and she asks for his number.

Fitz blinks several times. “Oh. Um. Right.” He ends up giving her his private cellphone number, the one only his Mum and Simmons and now Ward and Skye and May and Coulson have. Kaitlin smiles, her glasses hanging awkwardly on her nose, but her deep hazel eyes remaining steady. Rubbing the back of his neck, Fitz glances at his feet. “Well – I better go. It was nice meeting you. Kaitlin.”

“It was nice meeting you, Leo Fitz.”

(Kaitlin calls him a few nights later, when the team is already on their next mission in Europe. Fitz promises to let her know when he’s in the area next.

He keeps his promise four months later.)

* * *

Simmons falls in love with Skye the day after Fitz breaks her heart.

“Hey,” says Skye, her arm wrapped around Simmons’ shoulders. “I’m here. It’ll be okay, eventually.”

(And eventually, it is okay. Just not right then, not with Fitz kissing another woman, not with all the words she thought he could read stuck in the back of her throat. It’s not okay when Skye stays the night, a tangle of arms and sheets and hair. But it is okay the next morning. And it’s better than okay when Skye kisses her several months later, lips of raspberries and hair smelling like lavender. It’s wonderful when Simmons kisses back, Fitz watching blank-faced as he accidently breaks his new communicator prototype.)

* * *

Sitting back to back on the laboratory floor, Fitzsimmons only look up from their work when Skye runs in, breathing loudly and the tablet in her hands flashing. “Conference room – now.”

Ward is pacing while Coulson flips through electronic files. May stands quietly in the back, her frown tinged with something that Fitz thinks is _fear_. And that scares him more than the picture of the man on the screen.

“Franklin Hall,” says Coulson, his eyes firmly on his team. He shifts his gaze onto each member individually, and they all look back at him. “Thought to have died in the explosion of Ian Quinn’s mansion back in 2013 – “

“Sir,” says Skye, “you don’t have to repeat the story.”

Coulson looks at Skye, his frown more thoughtful than upset. “It turns out that Dr. Hall did not die in the explosion like we suspected.”

“How is that possible?” asks Fitz. “You said – “

“He fell into the Gravitonium field created by the doctor during his experiments,” says May. “It’s possible that might have kept him alive.”

Fitz finds Simmons immediately; she’s already staring at him, the gears in her brain spinning. “If he had enough access to the oxygen from the container they were holding it in – “

“ – and if there was enough energy generated by the explosion – “

“ – it could have preserved his vitals and possibly create retroactive mutations – “

“ – and if his molecules intermingled with those of the gravitonium’s – “

“ – then he could have absorbed some of the effects – “

“ – which may have been the catalyst for more unnatural occurrences like longevity, or improved senses, or – “

“Mentally controlled gravitation influence,” they say as one, eyes wide as they turn to the rest of the team.

Coulson swipes down the control panel. “Well, that would explain that.”

The six watch as a New York skyscraper floats ten feet off the ground.

* * *

“How’s Kaitlin?” asks Simmons, the dress she wears hugging her legs. She wonders why she let Skye dress her for this. This is _Fitz_.

“Good,” says Fitz, cutting his steak. “She says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back.”

As Simmons takes a sip of water, she decides she hates this. She hates the awkward silence, she hates the way Fitz won’t look at her, she hates that she can’t read him anymore. Words still feel heavy around him; once where she’d find herself speaking without thought around him, now she just thinks and wonders. The illusion has worn off; they are not psychically linked after all – they just spent too much time together.

Fitz almost chokes on his food and Simmons has to laugh when she taps his back as he downs some water. “Easy there,” she says. “Can’t send you back to Kaitlin all choked up.”

“Stupid bone,” says Fitz, his lips almost pouting. She only grins. “I miss May’s cooking.”

“Me too,” says Simmons, letting her hand fall from behind Fitz’s back. Her fingers lock together and she twists them as she smiles. “And don’t tell him I said this – but I kind of miss Ward’s sandwiches too.”

Fitz’s laugh is cool and light, but Simmons thinks it sparkles; his smile is the moon, and his eyes the stars, and when Fitz shakes his head, she sees him as he used to be – her Fitz, the light in the darkness, the embrace of silence at night. “Nothing will ever beat your sandwiches, Jemma.”

Simmons gets caught up in his eyes again after that. She wants to see his blue droplets of rain trained solely on her, with the same fire she used to see – but she’s in the desert now. And the future is ahead of her.

(That night, as they walk home, it starts raining. They laugh and take refuge in a bus stop and Fitz reminds her that they first became friends because she couldn’t tell time. Simmons rolls her eyes; she doesn’t correct him.

They become Fitzsimmons again after that.)

* * *

The first time they meet, Fitz hates Simmons.

She beats him in the first pop quiz their professor gives; she specializes in biochemistry but still seems to create a decent computer program in league with his own; she eats all the watermelon in the university dining halls.

(But then they’re assigned as lab partners in their second year; she asks for his help with quantum psychics and he grudgingly admits he _may_ need a tutor in zoology.

And then, in December on a Tuesday afternoon, they become best friends.)

* * *

They know something has gone wrong when Skye starts screaming Ward’s name.

“Skye! Ward! What’s going on?” Simmons hears only static and yelling.

“Simmons – “ says Fitz, his attention flittering between her and his computer. “I just lost May’s tracker.”

“Okay,” says Simmons, her finger shaking and the screen in front of her becoming oddly blurry. “Okay – we need to find them.”

 “Find – “ Fitz is no longer looking at his computer now, Coulson’s tracker also offline; instead, she sees him completely. The glow in his eyes matches a memory from long ago – the two of them perched on a full bed, nervous and excited and hopeful. “Simmons – we can’t – “

“We have to.”

Fitz follows her; he always does.

(They get to the door of the building before she finally looks at him; he looks older, and his back is straight, and she’s distinctly reminded of how he was before leaving for Ossetia with Ward. Fitz catches her looking at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you?”

Instead of answering, they just look at each other.)

* * *

The muted strains of Skye’s laughter filter into his bunk, but Fitz barely hears it; instead, he’s staring at Simmons. This isn’t new – he looks at her a lot: he has to; she’s his partner. But sometimes her hair gets caught in his jacket zipper, or her lips dance between laughter and annoyance, or her eyes widen at the sight of a new discovery. In those moments, Fitz thinks he’s probably _staring_ rather than just staring.

Tonight he _stares_ because Simmons is sitting next to him, their legs and shoulders touching, her fingers twisting around each other. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

Simmons lets her head rest on his shoulder. “That was too close.”

“I know.”

“Again.”

“I know,” he says, sighing.

“Of course, I’m glad Coulson is back – we couldn’t have survived without him, but we – we almost – “

Fitz lifts his shoulder so that she has to look at him. “But we didn’t. We’re here. We’re all safe and alive and happy, by the sounds of it.” This time it’s Coulson’s laugh they hear, and even if it’s tinged with pain, it’s still a laugh.

“I know,” says Simmons, biting her lip, her fingers crushing each other. Fitz frowns and places his hand over hers. She glances at their hands but only sighs. “I’m just – I’m starting to think that _maybe_ you were right.”

At that, Fitz has to laugh. “Of course I was right!” Her eyes narrow at him but Fitz shakes his head. “C’mon – I told you during that first mission that this was dangerous. But we’re still here, aren’t we?”

“Second mission,” says Simmons and Fitz rolls his eyes. “And I know but – this time – it just felt different.”

“Why?” Because for Fitz, he knew it was dangerous from the very beginning. But that moment, watching her fall out of the sky like a puppet without strings – that’s the moment seared into his nightmares.

But it can’t be the same for Simmons, because she doesn’t –

“It just – was,” says Simmons. She’s scooted away from him just a tiny bit, and while his elbow still grazes her arm, he no longer feels her body warmth.

“Okay.”

(Simmons leaves his bunk an hour later, after they’ve sat in silence for five minutes and talked some more for the other fifty-five. By the time she exits, Fitz feels warmer and colder all at the same time. Her distance is a burden he’s not ready to handle, yet her presence is suddenly stifling.

Fitz knows he’s loved Simmons since their second year at the academy, when he voluntarily failed a class so that she could make it home to see her brother. But that’s the night he realizes he’s probably in love with her too.)

* * *

Mrs. Fitz lives in a small apartment in Scotland; when Fitz visits the summer after they graduate from the Academy, he brings Simmons.

Mrs. Fitz is indeed a bright woman; her house is packed with literature and diagrams and maps and graphics and Simmons wonders how such an intelligent woman can look so lonely. But the woman wears a constant smile, bakes cookies, and makes lemonade, and Simmons can almost pretend she doesn’t miss her own mother.

“Leo speaks very highly of you, dear,” says Mrs. Fitz one evening. Fitz has disappeared somewhere, probably to play with a toy he snuck out of their lab, leaving Simmons in the kitchen with Mrs. Fitz. “He thinks the world of you.”

“He’s a very – he’s great,” says Simmons. But the word isn’t quite right, sitting heavy on her tongue. “No, not great.” Mrs. Fitz raises an eyebrow at her and Simmons shakes her head, eyes widening. “No! No, I mean, he _is_ great, but he’s more than that – he’s – “ No word seems proper, each one running through her head and then immediately denied.

Mrs. Fitz’s smile is knowing. “Beautiful?”

This time, she sees Fitz when she hears the word; she sees his wide smile that makes his face glow, and she sees him biting his lip as he stands with hands placed backwards on his hips as he thinks, and Simmons sees him when he reenters the house, arms filled with flowers. “Beautiful,” she says, barely a whisper, but only Mrs. Fitz hears her.

(Fitz cooks dinner for them that night, and Simmons is pleasantly surprised with how good it is. As she watches him blush under his mother’s gaze, Simmons can only smile.

Simmons knows she’s loved Fitz since the moment he took her to that bookstore, revealing his obsession with _Doctor Who_ and an affinity for couplets; but that’s the night she realizes she’s probably in love with him too.)

* * *

Fitz stumbles onto the BUS at half-past one in the morning and the first place he goes to is the lab.

He’s not _really_ sure why; his brain feels a little bubbly and he may be drunk, but he’s lucid enough to understand that when the faint blue light glows from Simmons’ side, that means she’s still there and still awake.

“Simmons?” When she looks up, Fitz feels all the bubbles pop and the fog clear just a bit. Her eyes are red and he’s not sure if it’s because she can’t sleep or if it’s because she’s been crying. Either way, Fitz doesn’t like it. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, her back stiff and her focus centered on cleaning up her desk space. Fitz frowns as he steps closer, but Simmons freezes before standing. “I – I should get to bed.”

“Jemma – “

“I’m really tired, Fitz,” says Simmons, and her voice _sounds_ tired too. It sounds tired and burdened and _resigned._ “It’s been a long day.”

Fitz can’t stop frowning. “Okay – if you’re sure – “

But Simmons just smiles, her eyes dull and her cheeks tense; she heads to the door and Fitz is left staring at nothing, bathed in blue. But before Simmons can slide back the glass, words start escaping him for the second time that day. “I kissed Kaitlin tonight.”

If Fitz wasn’t looking for it, he’d have missed Simmons tense. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Simmons turns slowly and for the first time since he’s met her, Fitz is staring at her face with no idea what’s she thinking. “So all that – back in the building – “

“I was just – I _do_ love you,” says Fitz, and maybe because the fog is so warm he can admit that at least, “but the moment – we were in danger and we didn’t know what was happening – and you’re my best friend, Jem, and that’s never going to change – so yes, I meant it, I do love you.”

“And you kissed Kaitlin.” Her blank face unnerves him more than any dead carcass she has ever brought into their lab.

“Yeah – yeah, I did,” says Fitz. He isn’t sure if he’s hoping for a reaction or expecting one, but he doesn’t get _anything_ except another small smile.

“I’m happy for you,” she says and if nothing else, Fitz is sure he’s sincere. And that’s when the tiny flame flickering in the back of his heart goes out with finality.

“Oh.”

Simmons raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I just – I,” he says and Fitz shakes his head, hoping the bubbles and clouds would just disappear. Instead, they appear faster. “I – oh.”

“Well,” says Simmons, just looking at him. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Goodnight, Jemma.”

“Goodnight, Leo.”

(When Fitz wakes up the next morning, he finally realizes she called him Leo. The word echoes in his head for days on end, even as they take their next mission and Simmons stops touching him insistently and Kaitlin calls again.

It sounds too much like _goodbye_.)

* * *

Even though she has the key, Simmons still knocks whenever she comes by Fitz’s apartment. He lives alone, sure, but Simmons knows from experience that Kaitlin can show up at the most inopportune moments without notice.

So, ever to follow rules, Simmons knocks.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” says Fitz through the door and Simmons has to smile as his accent clouds his groggy voice. “Woke me up from my damn nap!” he says as he swings the door open, his shirt half over his head.

“It’s four in the afternoon, Fitz,” says Simmons, slipping inside.

“Exactly.”

Simmons rolls her eyes. She unabashedly watches as he struggles with his shirt before giggling. “Here,” she says, dropping the envelope in her hands on the coffee table, and reaching over to help him. With eyes on his shirt and not his chest, Simmons eases Fitz’s neck through the hole. “How do you ever survive without me,” she says fondly, her attention on his face and not how close he is.

His tired face is suddenly awake and suddenly serious and Simmons freezes as she wets her lips. “I really don’t know,” he says, his voice quiet and soft and Simmons just looks at him look at her.

It’s probably only a second that passes before she blinks and steps back, but it feels much longer. “So I have something for you,” she says, reaching back for the envelope. Fitz looks normal again, messy hair and raised eyebrow and tiny frown. “Open it.”

He does; his grin lights up his entire face and if Simmons didn’t know any better, she’d think it’s Christmas. “Congratulations! And of course I’ll be there.”

Her thumb runs across her palm. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something else,” says Simmons, biting her lip. “Um – well – will you be my – “

“Yes.”

It’s funny, but her first reaction is not to question him. Her first reaction is to smile with relief and embrace him; because he’s Fitz and she’s Simmons and he’ll always know.

(Fitz turns out to be an excellent best man, calming her down during the wedding planning and having plenty of talks with Skye. He ends up making more decisions than the other bride herself, picking the color scheme and main entre, while Skye gives her back massages.

In fact, sometimes Simmons wonders if Skye’s the best man and Fitz is the bride and not the other way around.)

* * *

They find a broken communicator on the floor before they hear the voices.

Fitz vaguely recognizes the language as French, and decidedly not English, before Simmons pulls him around the corner and towards another hallway. He does his best to focus on running and finding a place to hide rather than the way his stomach _screams_.

“Here!” he says, spotting an abandoned room. They barricade the door with a chair, but other than that the room is empty, so they’re left with only hope and their brains.

Simmons hands him the broken communicator. “Can you fix it?”

“With no equipment?” he asks, trying not to grind his teeth together. He’s surprised his voice doesn’t squeak either. Shaking his head, he sighs in frustration. “This can’t be fixed, someone’s probably stepped on it.”

“Well what do we do then?” says Simmons, wringing her hands with wide eyes.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because you dragged me into this room!”

“Yeah, well, you dragged me into this building!”

“Oh _please_ – not this again – “

“You know what,” says Fitz, because maybe it’s the fire or maybe it’s just adrenaline, but Fitz just needs to _talk_ , “ _yes_ , this again! We get into these situations and yet you keep dragging us back! And you even _admitted_ I was right – that this is _dangerous_ – but we agreed that we wanted to do this anyway! So don’t you try to blame _me_ – when you and I both know I’d follow you _anywhere_ , Jemma!”

“Fitz, no – “

“I care about you and if something happened and I wasn’t there? I would _never_ forgive myself.”

“Fitz, please, don’t – “

Her protests are gas to his fire, but despite his willingness to finally _say it_ , his stomach churns as hope desperately flees. “Jemma, I – “

The two words end up dying on his lips; all he sees is her devastated face before the door slams open.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” asks May, dropping her gun slightly and gesturing for the two to follow her. Fitz and Simmons exchange a look; he only sees relief in her eyes. Somehow, that’s worse than her saying _no_.

(They all get out alive, thankfully, but Simmons avoids him the rest of the afternoon. Fitz copes by sitting in his bunk, playing with his phone, until he stumbles upon an old message. And since they’re in New York, Fitz decides to call Kaitlin.

Fitz and Kaitlin have their first date that night; they have dinner and walk around Central Park before grabbing frozen yogurt. It’s normal and fun and safe, and Fitz kisses her goodnight before heading back to the BUS.)

* * *

“May I cut in?”

Fitz looks at her with surprise and Simmons would be lying if that look didn’t hurt. But then he smiles and looks at Kaitlin who rolls her eyes. “Of course,” says Kaitlin, grinning widely. “I’ll just grab a drink.”

Fitz takes her hand and places the other on her waist. Simmons still feels her mouth dry when he looks at her, her hand resting on his chest. “You look gorgeous,” he says.

“I see Kaitlin finally got you to wear a bow tie,” says Simmons with a grin. “I like the color too.”

“Brings out my eyes?” says Fitz. She rolls her eyes and doesn’t nod but she doesn’t need to; Fitz’s smug laugh is answer enough. “Excited?”

“Nervous,” says Simmons; if it’s anyone else, she’d just go with excited. But this is Fitz. “But – not like – “

Fitz tilts his head to the side as they spin around. “You love her and you’re happy, just – nervous.” Simmons smiles, her shoulders relaxing. Fitz nods. “You two will be fine.”

“What about you? Do I finally get to take you ring shopping?” she says, and pretends that her wishes for ring shopping did not used to be under vastly different circumstances.

Fitz shakes his head. “No, no ring shopping. Maybe someday.”

The next song is slow and they decide to keep dancing; but they do so in silence. Simmons can’t help but wonder if this dance could have been different. But the silence is very much the same – it’s not awkward and not comfortable, it just is. They dance with her head on his chest and sometime in the middle of the song, Fitz kisses her hair.

“Fitz?”

“Simmons?”

“I love you, Leo.” The words flow like honey and she wonders why it took her so long to get the words unstuck when all she feels is Fitz with his arm around her.

“I love you too, Jemma.”

Simmons knows he means it.

(The next day, Fitz falls in love with Kaitlin when she hands him a monkey charm for Simmons’ new bracelet. Simmons marries Skye that morning, with Coulson around Skye’s arm and Simmons’ own father around her own.  

But before Simmons leaves that evening for her honeymoon, she pulls Fitz into an abandoned room in the church. Fitz stares at her with wonder in his eyes and Simmons feels that familiar ache all over; but she kisses him on the corner of his mouth, letting her hand lingering on his cheek.

Then Simmons leaves. Fitz doesn’t follow.)

* * *

This is the story of how Fitz and Simmons became Fitzsimmons. This is a love story.

Just maybe not the one you were expecting.


End file.
